


Gamzee: Detox

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Detox, Drug Use, Other, Pale Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:31:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is no sopor on the meteor. Not a drop. There's nothing for you to do but drop it. It shouldn't be hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gamzee: Detox

Everything is blue or green and red there’s so much red everywhere like you’re drowning in an ocean of crimson like every redblooded beast blushed and bled right into your oculars like the sky fell down and crammed itself into your pan like everything is bleeding the way Karkat bleeds everything is so red so red so red and he’s just watching you like he doesn’t see how red he is how red the everything about him is like he’s not aware of the crimson cherry fire  **blood**   _brick_  rose wine cardinal coral ruby carmine blo _od b **lood blo** od_

“Gamzee?” He asks, leaning over the table between you and touching your prongs with his delicate little fingers. “You’ve been zoning out for a while.”

He’s warm and he touches you and the red goes all pink, dilutes, the sky crawls out of your pan and you blink and grin and he’s just there, looking at you, he’s not red but he’s reddish and that’s okay. “Just got caught in a think is all. No worries brother.” You lie, he hates when you poke into his pan.

“Okay.” He nods, leaning back into his space. The board is still full of little plastic disks, the red (crimson cherry  _blood_ ) encroaching on your black. “It’s your turn.”

You stare at the board, eyes fuzzy, shapes floating between you and where your hands should be, and your eyebrows pull together. “Can we play somethin else?” The shapes are hopping here and there, circular discs of plastic hopping from space to space when you know because you crack your knuckles by clenching your fists that you’re not moving them.

“Uh, yeah.” He sounds a little disappointed and you frown, but when you swing your head up to catch his eye there’s three of him and you feel sick and then he’s falling away and then he’s over you and so concerned but you can’t hear him, you just see him and his hands and he’s soothing and your head is full of pink cotton and it’s so nice and you let your eyes shut and it’s getting quieter and you forget your body because something hot and small is hitting the side of your face and it’s so much easier to drift away.


	2. Gamzee: Sober Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're clearer now. Not clear. Clearer.

You wake up on what humans call beds and you still consider a  _pailing platform_ , but it’s covered in twisted sheets and blankets and you’re sweating and your paint is totally gone and your hair is tangled around your horns and the room smells like sick and death and before you even realize it, you’re beating feet to the abulationsblock just off the room.

Everything you managed to eat for the past ten hours is crawling out our digestive track, and your knees hit the floor so hard there’s this sharp  **crack**  of pain that shoots to the tips of your horns. You choke and puke up digested foodstuffs, clinging to the load gaper like it’s the only thing real, and you finally realize that you really, really need some sopor. Even if you weren’t going to eat it (which, you can’t lie in this position, you would) you can’t sleep right in a “bed”. Feeling your own weight when you’re trying to sleep is weird, and nothing makes you warmer, no matter how many blankets you wrap around yourself. You gag again, your forehead hitting the rim as you flush.

The floor, considering you are technically in a simulated gravity, bucks around a lot. It did when you had access to the sopor, though, on Alternia. You’d be walking and the floor would rear up and lay you out like it was telling you to get your feet off it, it’s bigger and older than you. But it seems like it’s worse now, you never felt it when you were sitting down, and kneeling like you are it’s constant, rolling from side to side along with the lead weights in your skull, knocking everything around and making you dizzy and hurt. Your voodoos are bouncing off your horns and the walls, like they’re trying to branch out and dig into some other fuck-up’s pan, but not getting far because you can’t focus past the floor trying to knock you into the ceiling and your head breaking open completely.

Past your stomach being empty, you retch up bile, your throat burning and your shoulders shaking. Where’s Karkat? You remember him, checkers and him and RED and his face all worried and small hands and  _crimson red blood_  and the way his voice goes soft when he talks to you alone and  _red **red**  like fire like magma like a ** ~~mutant~~** could pour it on the ground and paint the sky_ and then darkness and then here. Why isn’t he helping? Your pusher hurts, your head hurts, and you wish that he would come and just be there, at least witnessing that you’re falling apart and going empty and that you  _need him_.

Your spine feels like it’s made of broken glass, your joints are all swollen and achy and you can’t lift your head for fear your eyes will fall out, the only thing keeping your face from being directly in the gaper is your horns taking your head’s weight, which is painful but not as painful as the shame you feel burning in the back of your mind. The current and past shame, the shame that you never felt fully because it was easy to put things aside in your mind when it moved at half speed. 

Now that you can’t think past all the pain of feeling things and the new bruises, everything floods back to you, the sadness and how Karkat always tries and everything else, all the aching and all the times that your lusus did come hive, came and crawled partway on land and you were too lost to see him or when he saw you he was too embarrassed to stay, how he dug his way into your pan and locked himself in your mind 

and how much you  _feel_ about it, you never thought about it and now you’re far from over it, because even if he came he never stayed, never spoke to you, just bounced your voodoos back on you and made you want to–

You retch again, feeling hot and stiff and having to fight your shirt off. Every rib stands out in your skin, sunken and too pale, nearly white, and you try to think of a time it wasn’t like that. Maybe when you were really young, before you figured out how to smother your own thoughts and that the price was your health.

The next retch has you sobbing, claws snapping painfully (when did they get that long, you wonder) as you cling to the gaper again. You don’t even hear your block door open, you just feel your powers seep into Karkat’s mind as he rushes in to find you, filled with worry and  _red_  and love for you and want for you to get better, for him to help you get better and red crimson so much red just thudding through his veins close to the surface at his wrists and he’s dragging you back, on the floor still, his back pressed to the wall and his legs bent around you like a little nest, he’s so delicate and red and warm and soft and  **red**.

He’s saying something but it’s distant, you can’t hear him speak through the fuzz of his mind, all warm and worried and cherry-colored, he sounds panicked, his arms tight around you like a vice pulling you to his chest, something slips through, “you’re okay”, and you say something in response but it sounds wrong so you stop, just force your arms to work to cling to him, your fingers bleeding where your claws broke off, and let him put your face in his neck, sure that he thinks you won’t kill him and aware of the thing in your head that says you should try anyway.

It’s not so much a voice (Karkat’s petting your gross hair and you want him to stop and you want him to keep you there forever and you want him to do more and you want him to stop) as just a feeling, a feeling the wrong tone and color, so clear and crisp that you know it isn’t yours, it never bleeds into your other feelings, (Karkat’s shushing you now, and you realize that you’re babbling not-words, sobbing against him and trying to move closer when there’s no closer to move into) you just have that one feeling of the things you don’t want but might consider but never do, all wrapped into something you can’t name that nudges the back of your pan every time you’re close enough to breathe someone in.

(Karkat is kissing your face, pinkish tears on his cheeks and you want to wipe them away and you want to kiss his lips but you don’t because you’re disgusting) (Everything in your pan bounces around in the not-voice of your lusus, disapproving and angry and loud) Karkat presses his lips to yours and you sob again, falling into him, his scent surrounding you with pink, the cleanest diamonds ever cut, and you hold onto him, shivering in a sudden shift of cold but refusing to let him move away because outside the room there might not be anything else and when he’s there the not-voice of your lusus shuts up a little and the not-yours of that feeling fades and it’s better.

Almost as good as getting fucked up, but not quite.

Karkat doesn’t make you move, even when your sobs die down and you can’t feel your face and you want to but can’t, he doesn’t force your aching body up, he lets you put your whole weight on him and complains that you’re too thin and pets your hair and soothes you until you feel yourself falling asleep again, the pink of his voice and smell crowding into your pan to push everything else out until you lose yourself in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy fun times with Jamzee Maraca

**Author's Note:**

> I find myself thinking about this part of the comic a lot, idk.  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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